r to the wives of the men he met in business, women who
knew not Cardigan Street, and annoyed her by staring at her hands, and
talking of their troubles with servants till they made her sick.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Jonah. He turned in his
sleep and pushed the sheet from his face, but a loud scrunch from Ada's
jaw woke him completely. He tugged at the pillow and his hand fell on
the tin of sticky lollies.

"Bah!" he cried in disgust, and rubbed his fingers on the sheet. "Only
kids eat that muck."

"Kid yerself!" cried Ada furiously. "Anybody 'ud think I was eatin'
di'monds. Yer'd grudge me the air I breathe, if yer thought it cost
money."

"Yah, git up an' light the fire!" replied Jonah.

"Yes, that's me all over. Anybody else 'ud keep a servant; but as long
as I'm fool enough ter slave an' drudge, yer save the expense."

"You slave an' drudge?" cried Jonah in scorn--"that was in yer dream.
Are yer sure ye're awake?"

"Yes, I am awake, an' let me tell yer that it's the talk of the
neighbourhood that yer've got thousands in the bank, an' too mean ter
keep a servant."

"That's a lie, an' yer know it!" cried Jonah. "Didn't yez 'ave a girl
in Wyndham Street, an' didn't she pinch enough things to set up 'er
sister's 'ouse w'en she got married?"

"Yous couldn't prove it," said Ada, sullenly.

"No, I couldn't prove it without showing everybody wot sort of wife I'd
got."

"She's a jolly sight too good fer yous, an' well yer know it."

"Yes, that's wot I complain of," said Jonah. "I'd prefer a wife like
other men 'ave that can mind their 'ouse, an' not make a 'oly show of
themselves w'en they take 'em out."

"A fat lot yer take me out!"

"Take yous out! Yah! Look at yer neck!"

Ada flushed a sullen red. So far the quarrel had been familiar and
commonplace, like a conversation about the weather, but her neck,
hidden under grubby lace, was Ada's weak point.

"Look at the hump on yer back before yer talk about my neck," she
shouted. It was the first time she had ever dared to taunt Jonah with
his deformity, and the sound of her words frightened her. He would
strike her for certain.

Jonah's face turned white. He raised himself on his elbow and clenched
his fist, the hard, knotty fist of the shoemaker swinging at the end of
the unnaturally long arms, another mark of his deformity. Jonah had
never struck her--contrary to the habit of Cardigan Street--finding
that he could hit